


Birthday Bee

by bottledbasil



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Castiel's Angelic Grace (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Dean Winchester's 42nd Birthday, Dean Winchester's Birthday, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Post-Finale, happy birthday to the best boy!!!, so glad he gets to celebrate his birthday alive and with his family, very good for him honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28968819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottledbasil/pseuds/bottledbasil
Summary: Dean is not used to a great many things: stability, affection, peace. He'scertainlynot used to having people, afamily, going out of their way to celebrate his birthday. With Chuck out of the picture and Cas back from the Empty, Dean learns that good things really do happen sometimes, even if (especiallyif) it took forty-two years to get there.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 69





	Birthday Bee

**Author's Note:**

> Here's your obligatory warning that I've never actually watched _Supernatural_ except for the finale and "Scoobynatural," I just think the characters are Neat, so apologies in advance if some of this is funky. I barely know what I'm doing.

Dean was not used to a huge to-do on his birthday. 

The most shocking thing that happened to him on the twenty-fourth day of January in the past forty-two years of his life—Jesus, he was getting too old for this hunting shit—was one morning two or so years ago when he had come into the bunker kitchen to find that Sam had made him french toast, topped with whipped cream and strawberries because Heaven forbid his brother dropped the healthy shtick for even one day (the strawberries had actually been delicious, but Sam “all the Whole Foods employees know me by name” Winchester did not need to know that). More common was his brother just got him a birthday card, and even more typical still—and what happened the vast majority of the time—was he just went “happy birthday, Dean” and then they would return to their hunt, or their research to find a hunt. Dean had all thirteen of the cards Sam had given him in a shoebox under his bed, the more recent of them being stock Hallmark cards but a couple being from when they were younger and Sam had stolen restaurant crayons to make his own. There was also one that Cas had made him, done in his messy cursive scrawl the one year he had had the time between killing things and doing weird angel business to make him one.

 _Cas._

That’s another thing he wasn’t used to. 

Cas’s return from the Empty had been messy, ultimately ending with his grace in a bottle and the rest of him decidedly human, but for the most part he remained his weird little self. He wore his grace around on a cord like a dog tag, and so long as he had coffee, bagels, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches he seemed largely fine with his new mortality, which was something Dean was still struggling to wrap his head around. Technically, they had only needed to remove his grace to get him _out_ of the Empty, and now that he was back on Earth he could probably absorb it again without any consequences if he wanted to. Instead, Cas had just pointed out that he needed to sleep now but had nowhere to do it, which had led to Dean offering up his bed, and that had been that on that. 

That was how Dean had found himself routinely waking up to a snoring not-angel pressed into his shoulder, his arm occasionally looped around his waist as he radiated warmth like some kind of once-divine heater. They never started out that way; Dean would very pointedly start the night out on the left, and Cas on the right, but they always woke up entangled somewhere in the middle. It wasn’t helped by the fact that human-Cas slept like a—well, to say “corpse” would be morbid, but it was the truth. It was pointless trying to hold a conversation with him in the morning unless he had had at least two cups of coffee, and dragging him out of bed to _get_ the coffee was a feat in and of itself. 

This was why there was a new contender for the most shocking thing to happen to Dean on the twenty-fourth day of January: Cas was already out of bed.

If he had been anyone else, his emotions probably would’ve stopped at “shock” and he would’ve just gotten up to go find him like a normal person. But, he was not anyone else, so instead “shock” progressed into “panic” and he grabbed the pistol from his nightstand drawer as he shot to his feet. He had enough clothes on not to offend anyone who might be lurking the halls, so he crept out of his room, following the sound of quiet chatter all the way to the kitchen with the pistol held flush against his hip. 

“Cas, if you want it to be legible, don’t use syrup. It’s not going t—oh. Hi, Dean.”

Sam gave him an awkward smile from where he was standing over Cas and Jack, who appeared to be militantly arranging a plate of pancakes. Or rather, _Cas_ seemed to be militantly arranging a plate of pancakes, carefully adorning them with syrup—Jack was standing next to him holding a can of whipped cream in eager anticipation. 

“We’re not done yet. Shoo,” Cas said without looking up, but Dean could see a grin crinkling his features, so he shoved the pistol into his waistband and leaned against the wall of the entryway.

“Happy birthday Dean!” Jack yelled, taking a fistful of confetti out of his pocket and throwing it up into the air. The confetti that already littered the floor suggested he had been practicing for this moment all morning, and Dean let out a laugh. 

“Pancakes, huh?”

Cas finally stood up and faced him, grinning. He looked...different, but Dean chalked it up to the pancake mix smeared on his nose and dusting his hair. “Yes, though I wouldn’t recommend eating the top one now. Jack got confetti on it.” 

Jack stuck his tongue out at him, turning to the fridge to pull out a carton of orange juice. Dean crossed over to where the three were standing by the kitchen island, positioning himself across from them and eyeing the syrupy pancakes as he rested his elbows on the counter. He could vaguely make out what was maybe a “y” near the bottom of the top pancake, but it was even harder to read now that it was flecked with colorful paper bits. 

“What were you _trying_ to write?” he asked, and he started to reach for the pancake underneath the top one before Sam smacked his hand away. 

“Get a _fork,_ man,” he chided, “and let Jack put the whipped cream on first.” Dean rolled his eyes but drew his hand back obediently, fixing his gaze on Cas as he waited for an answer. 

Cas’s face grew red with embarrassment. “I, uh, it’s supposed to say ‘happy birthday.’”

Dean laughed again, trying to hide how fond he was made by the fact that Cas, former Angel of the Lord and self-proclaimed raiser of Dean Winchester from “perdition,” didn’t understand that syrup, by nature, would soak everywhere after it was poured.

“I’m surprised Sam didn’t make you write it out in blueberries or somethin’, the fruit freak.”

Sam, who was mid-process of removing the tarnished top pancake, glowered at him. 

“If you hate fruit so much, I’ll just throw out the apple pie I made then, too.” 

“Hey now, that’s different,” Dean argued, watching as Sam set aside the confettied pancake for when one of them would inevitably scrape off the paper bits and feed it to Miracle, who was sitting patiently at Cas’s feet. Jack took the opportunity to lean forward and eagerly spray the remaining stack with whipped cream, and Sam stuck a candle in the middle. 

“Happy birthday, Dean,” he said, faux-scowl replaced by a genuine smile as he lit the candle. “Here’s to another forty-two years of you being insufferable.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

With his chest feeling lighter than it had in years, Dean went to blow out the candle, but Jack stopped him with a very serious expression on his face.

“You have to make a wish,” he instructed. 

Dean made an exaggerated display of thinking, and then blew out the candle. 

_“Well?”_ Jack prompted eagerly, and Dean chuckled. 

“If I tell you, it isn’t gonna come true,” he pointed out, and Jack pouted at him before deciding that finding the secret box of Lucky Charms Dean had bought for him against Sam’s wishes was a better use of his time. 

As the day progressed beyond breakfast, Dean was finding it harder and harder to hide his disbelief at just how much they had actually done for his birthday. Jack had forced them all into kitschy plastic cowboy hats the moment Dean had finished his pancakes, and then promptly dragged them all down to the Dean Cave where he proceeded to eagerly push presents with paw print wrapping paper into Dean’s hands. The first two had been from Sam, who had gotten him a cookbook—a normal one, thankfully, none of his weird “paleo” nonsense—and a beginner’s guide to guitar, so he could finally “learn to play the one hanging on the wall instead of leaving it untouched forever like some elitist rock and roll asshole.” Cas had gone next, much to Jack’s chagrin, and had gotten him an espresso machine to replace the dingy coffee maker in the kitchen. Dean had pointed out that it seemed more like a gift for _himself_ rather than for him, and Cas had given him a non-committal shrug in response that had earned him a gentle shove. Jack, excited to have finally gotten his turn, had given him a handmade card (technically, they all had, but Jack’s was the only one that had brought him to tears because it said “Happy Birthday, Dad <3” in crayon along the top) and a John Wayne Monopoly set, which had led to hours of intense real estate wars broken only by dinner and pie before Cas was finally declared the winner. 

Apparently, there had been plans for a movie and popcorn, too, but after their long and tedious game of Monopoly they had all agreed to just go to bed, so Dean now found himself heading back to his bedroom, tailed by Cas. He was chattering on about how Cas had _definitely_ cheated, and even if he hadn’t how _dare_ he not let him win on _his birthday,_ when he entered the room and stopped. A small box, wrapped neatly in the same paw print wrapping paper and topped by a small blue bow, sat innocently in the middle of the bed. Dean raised an eyebrow and looked back at Cas. 

“You know I hate surprises,” he warned jokingly. Cas rolled his eyes and brushed past him wordlessly, sitting down on the edge of the mattress and patting the spot next to him. Dean took it, a small, bemused smile playing at his lips as Cas gingerly set the gift in his hands. 

“What could be so outlandish that it had to wait until after the other two went to bed?” he asked, pulling on the ribbon. 

“If you would stop jabbering and open it, you might find out,” Cas teased, bumping his shoulder. It was Dean’s turn for an eye roll, and he pulled back the wrapping to reveal a nondescript cardboard box. It felt warm in his hands, _familiar,_ and he suddenly realized what had been bugging him about Cas earlier. 

_“Cas,”_ he exhaled quietly, fingers hovering on the box flap as he met Cas’s eyes. The warm blues were peering back at him with the same intensity as always, rocking seas focused on him and him alone. “I can’t accept this.” 

“You haven’t even opened it yet,” Cas argued, still holding his gaze. Dean looked down at the box in his hands, speechless. Now that he knew what to look for, he could see the faintest outline of blue peeking through the opening he had made by anxiously thumbing at the lid. He folded the top of the box back, swallowing thickly. Settled atop the neatly-coiled cord it was tied to, and pulsing softly with otherworldly blue flame, was the small glass vial that had hung around Cas’s neck ever since he had come back from the Empty. 

“I don’t—Cas I _can’t.”_

With one hand, Cas reached over and pulled the bottle of his grace from the box by the cord. With the other, he took Dean’s hand and unfolded his fingers, revealing his palm. He placed the vial there, tenderly pressing Dean’s fingers back over so that they were holding the glass capsule. 

“It’s a gift. I’ve been told you’re supposed to keep those.” 

Dean looked up again and found Cas watching him with that same irrevocable fondness he had worn like a badge pretty much every day since he had returned. It made Dean’s breath catch, and he attempted a small laugh to offset how small he felt. 

“I guess I did say that, didn’t I?” 

He dipped his head down, guiding the cord over and onto his neck. The vial fell against his chest with a quiet thud, and a small jolt ran through him at the contact. He cupped it with his palm, feeling the warmth emanating from it like a comforting hug. 

“I’m still allowed to ask _why,”_ he said then, voice hoarse and more than slightly choked as he watched vibrant indigos and cornflower blues swirl lazily against the glass. 

“Because I love you,” Cas answered, tone matter-of-fact like it was the most natural and obvious thing in the entire world, “and I want you to know that I’m not going anywhere.” 

And _that_. 

That was the kicker. 

Dean’s head fell forward into Cas’s shoulder, and he took in a shuddering breath as he repeated the sentence in his head over and over. 

_I’m not going anywhere._

In the months since Cas’s return, Dean had yet to return the three words that had saved his life, and he knew it was unfair of him but he had been terrified that if he admitted his feelings aloud everything would slip between his fingers again, the final cruel joke by a malevolent god that had realized the only way to break him was to give him hope that it might really all be over before crushing it beneath his boot. 

_I’m not going anywhere._

Cas’s hand was in his hair, carding his fingers through it like he so often did now, and Dean felt him kiss the top of his head. Seeing opportunity, Dean pulled back, and before nerves could get the better of him he frowned and said, “You missed.” 

“What?” Cas was giving him a funny look, but Dean knew Cas wasn’t stupid. He could see the blatant recognition in the wide ocean eyes looking back at him, almost daring him to finish the thought.

“I said,” Dean repeated, and he leaned forward to press a very quick, very “first teenage romance” kiss to Cas’s lips. “You missed.”

For a moment, nothing happened, and Dean was starting to panic that he had just fucked the whole thing up when Cas gave him a cheeky grin.

“Apologies,” Cas said. “You’ll have to let me try again.”

He grabbed Dean’s jaw with delicate hands and pulled him back towards him, kissing him with a loving tenderness that almost made him cry. He cupped Cas’s face in return, hands sliding back into his hair as he kissed him fervently, and almost broke away as laughter bubbled to his lips at the fact that kissing Cas was giving him genuine fuckin’ _butterflies._

“I love you,” Dean said suddenly, opening his eyes so he could watch Cas as he said it. “I love you so much, Cas.”

“I know,” Cas replied, giving him that dumb grin again. _Smartass,_ Dean thought fondly, and he shifted so his arms were wrapped around Cas’s waist in a loose hug as he pressed into his angel’s shoulder again. “Happy birthday, honeybee.” 

Dean blushed furiously into Cas’s jacket, about to tell him off for being so sappy when Cas suddenly asked, “Did you actually wish for anything, or were you just entertaining Jack?” 

“I did,” Dean answered. “It just came true.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote and edited this all today, so apologies if it's not Superb, but I really wanted to post _something_ for the best birthday boy :,) can't believe he's still alive and celebrating his forty-second birthday with his brother, his son, and the love of his life. Good for him, honestly.
> 
> 🌵 [Tumblr](https://nocxtifer.tumblr.com/) 🌵


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